La-Mulana in Story FormA lone figure staggered under the force of the wind, trying desperately to keep his last dignity in this coming storm – his travel-worn fedora. He made a comical figure in this preface to a storm, rushing up the dirt path littered with fall leaves to his three-story Victorian home perched atop the hill. He was returning home from the archaeology classes he taught at the nearby university when the wind struck, wolf-like and ravenous for the taste of hat, much to the man’s dismay. The sun hung low against the ground, painting it and the bottoms of the clouds a brilliant vermillion and orange as the clouds hung broodingly overhead andLa-Mulana in Story Form
Vague funSanctity and Vulgarity, the hunter and the hunted, the world was wrapped tightly with immutable rules. Rules which we won’t and cannot comprehend and thusly label, in a desperate attempt to feel in control. Even the wind defies us as we rein it in to power our machines and no matter what we do the earth always seems to stay the same. Yet we dream of control, yearn for even a taste of the freedom that nature seems all too eager to display. What if someone offered you the chance to cast off your chains and grip fate by the horns? What if they offered to let you sow the seeds of destiny haphazardly without a single thought to consequeVague fun
Bio of a Goblin KingIt was a long fall.Bio of a Goblin King
At least that’s what Grunk was thinking after he kicked his loyal retainer off one of the many cliffs of Frug-Ma-Thron, a combination of words that meant ‘Watch your step’ aptly enough. The tiny green figure that stood on the precipice was strange by most opinions, though very normal as far as goblins were concerned. He adjusted his badly dented crown and said eloquently, “Pah! Loyalty? Me can’t stand it.” He hobbled off, an oft-patched cloak fluttering in the wind and doing an astounding job at missing all of his fiddly bits. Meanwhile, a large boiler slowly broke loose from its ill-ma
PhrenicAnother cold and miserable day, thought the man staring at the coal-colored clouds from his balcony high above the city and its monolithic architecture. The clouds and sky of course were artificial, generated by machines older than anyone could spell, much less remember. He glanced down at the city, its name coming unbidden to his thoughts, Avalon. The city was the only home he’d ever known, but somehow he felt there were more, there must be something else than concrete, steel, and artificial rain. As if to punctuate that thought the sky began to weep, the almost tranquil sounds of the city shattered by the harsh patter of artPhrenic
>_> I still think no one reads this shit...
!
b0x0rz-less
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*kagkur-fans
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*kagkur-fans
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Everything falls apart;
even the people that never frown eventually break down.
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~
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